My mom collects Precious Moments. Like, hard core. She has one (at least) for each of us kids, our spouses, our children, special events and some simply because she loves them. Considering there are five of us kids, sixteen grandchildren and a lifetime of special events, she’s got a lot of Precious Moments. She should really own stock in Enesco. Each of the figurines has a meaning and the little statue represents it’s namesake in one way or another. My first one is a little girl holding an egg with a tiny bird in it, because I was always trying to rescue animals. My hubby’s is a fisherman. There’s one with two kids playing in a hose for my oldest brother and sister, weightlifters and football players for my brothers, a business woman for my sister, and the classic baby statue for new grandchildren. Really, the list goes on. So it’s never been a surprise that with each new birth a new baby lines the glass shelves of my mom’s hutch. Except, when I first became a mom, I didn’t bring home a baby. I brought home a seven year old.
The first year of having our girl, affectionately known as Bot Bot (Bot is the Hebrew word for daughter. To read more about our Hebrew traditions, check out No Maybe Baby) we spent a great deal of time just getting to know each other and explaining some of the traditions of our family. What we do at Christmas, how we hold hands to pray at dinner, annual camping trips and the like were all explained in detail so that she would be most comfortable. And it was no surprise when upon visiting my parents’ house and noticing the giant glass menagerie of Precious Moments, Bot Bot was curious about that too. And in the explanation, she realized that one was missing: hers. And I’m sure that in her mind, that was just one more thing that set her apart from the rest of the family. Fortunately, my mom is on top of things like that and it wasn’t long until we were back in her living room, Bot Bot unwrapping her very own Precious Moment. Now if you know anything about the little statues, you would know that each one has its own meaning, its own saying on the bottom. Hers is no different. And perhaps because of the circumstances, or maybe just because I’m the Mamma, I think her’s is the most special because on the bottom are three little words: You are Mine. They may not seem like much. It’s not a screaming declaration. It’s a statement. It’s a symbol of belonging. It is three small words with one giant meaning. You are mine. You are not alone, you are not forsaken, you are mine.
Now think of what that means to her? To me? What about to you? You might think that it doesn’t relate much to you. You know who you are, you have a name, a home, a place. But do you feel like you belong? Because here’s the deal: at one point or another we’re all lost. We all feel alone. We all feel like a lost child looking for her forever home. But the beauty is that we don’t have to be lost or alone. We don’t have to search any more, because we already have that forever home. We are called to it by our Father, the one who searches for us when we’re lost. He beacons us home, the prodigal child, even when we don’t deserve it. He saves the best for us, by sending his own son as a sacrifice so that we can spend eternity with Him. He claims us, with three simple words: You are Mine. All we have to do is accept his invitation. All we need to do is place our small, childlike hand in the strong grip of our Father, our Daddy, and we are home. We belong. And we will never be forsaken.